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User blog:Dargoo Faust/Dargoo Faust's Fate Tourney: Recap and Story
And the curtain closes, with only one master and servant standing before the Grail. Twists and turns, bloodshed and freindships, this user has survived trial and tribulation of all sorts to get to this spot, and it looked like brute strength didn't cut it for this tourney, as is the case with much of Fate. Now, it's time to look back at the tourney and see our rankings, and why users placed in them, just to make sure there are no loose ends. Also, there was a secret reward for the winner, and the runner up, which I kept secret so you blokes wouln't rig the votes! See below for more! Great work, everyone! I was surprised at the number of entires, thinking I would have to push and scrape just to get ''seven. ''Let's give a send off to all of our entries! ' ' Now, It's time to remember. WHO WAS THE DEADLIEST?! ' RECAP: Mage's Association Dossier' The Clock Tower, London "..." It was a slow day for Lord El-Melloi. Too slow, which made what would have been an utter surprise of the news in front of him hit like less of a bulldozer. An Enforcer stood in front of him, madly grinning, while what appeared to be a sibling sat across from him, with a sort of bodyguard. What he had to say was utterly ridiculous, but it fit the profile of the reports filling in of a nuclear bomb setting off in one of the largest cities in the world. "Mr. Faucheux. I'm aware a Grail War was declared in Paris. That much is true. But you're telling me, that not only did you actively participate in it, you managed to acquire the Holy Grail?" The man gingerly nodded, sweating a bit. He was hiding something. "One of the most powerful magical relics, accurately reported to have been lost after the Third Fuyuki Grail War?" Another nod. More sweat. With the world of magecraft becoming a madhouse, he didn't have time for this. "What are you not telling me." "Well... um... sir... I ''wasn't selected for the war. I was, well, in the right place at the right time." "Yet you came into possession of the Holy Grail, without summoning a servant?" Something clicked in Melloi's mind. "Oh. I see." He turned towards the woman to his left, who was relaxing while reading a book that looked more heavy than ''her. He couldn't exactly grasp how she was handling it beyond a hefty dose of reinforcement magecraft. "Ms. Faucheux. You... were selected for the Grail War?" "Yes." "And, you acquired the Grail from a threat that downed dozens of our finest enforcers, and killed four major magus families in Japan?" "Yes." "And, where might be this Grail be?" Melloi had to push for an answer fast. If word got out that someone acquired the Grail, he wouldn't hear the end of it. Especially if the owner was in his office. "I'm holding it." "You're..." he looked at the book. It seemed to be impossibly thick, and was bound in a leather that could only be described as flexible gold. Again, facts began to click in his mind. "You already made a wish with it." Her bodyguard stepped in. Melloi didn't expect a talkative guard, nor did he expect one so impeccably dressed. Facts clicked again, yet at a slower pace. It was as if something was throwing him off about this man. "Three ''wishes. One of them is yet to be set into action. You could say it had a timer on it, in a way." Melloi arched a brow. "Interesting. You two ''realize ''this proves nothing. In fact, all that you've said so far has only made me have greater suspicion in your words. Especially you, Hector." Hector butted in, looking slightly angry. "Hey, now, look, she snagged the cup and had at it before I could do any-" Tanis looked up from her book, with a red mist surrounding her head, and shot a glance directly at Melloi. Her brother quieted the moment she did this, and the room fell still. "''I'm reporting, Melloi. This is to get you and the association off of my back." "The fact you've even left your household has already broken endless agreements with the Faucheux family on our end. You coming here doesn't change anything." Hector looked more nervous. He didn't seem to be in the loop on this, despite attempting to look confident and in charge nearly seconds ago. Tanis regarded Melloi once more. "You already know what I wished." "If ''you had the grail, I'm fairly very certain what you'd intend to do with it. Your brother's complaints to me before this incident I assume are still true. A waste of such a potent artifact." The bodyguard chimed in, smiling at Melloi. He hated it when people acted confidently in front of him. It made his skin itch, reminding him of the predecessor of his house. "One man's trash, as a western proverb put it." Melloi had already called an entire squadron of enforcers to his room. At his command, they could handle anything that the girl could throw at him, although her brother would be a problem, considering his experience. "You've still proved nothing, other than you've broken agreements with the Association, claim to have the Holy Grail, which the Church has sole jurisdiction over, and claim to have participated in this Global Grail War." Tanis held him with a passive stare, as if his accusations didn't register. "I proved something. Give it two seconds." Melloi's experience meant his first action was to signal for the enforcers to handle the Faucheuxes. The house's patrons and subsidiaries could annoy him later if they were injured during incarceration. Yet, as he was about to signal, he froze. It wasn't Hector's magecraft, he had already made preparations to deal with him should the time have come. The enforcers outside would have already killed him should he have tried anything like this. This was something ''far above Hector Faucheux's paygrade. "That should be it, Assassin." Tanis calmly walked up to Melloi, and laid out a paper in front of him. "This is my second wish." It appeared to be a legal document, outlining some sort of agreement. He noticed the Mage's Association, the Church, and several other major magecraft organizations mentioned in the first page. He could already assume what this meant. "In short, I wished for peace and quiet, Melloi." Tanis walked out of the room, her servant following her. Hector looked dumbstruck, and the enforcers waiting outside of the room were about as immobile as Melloi. After she had moved dozens of meters he could move again, with the Enforcers running in her direction. Melloi knew that she was above the abilities of the Association at this point, and didn't even bother to call for more support. Instead, he picked up the document, noticing Tanis Faucheux's brother running out as he shifted his focus. Oddly enough, the front of the document was a sort of list, labelled with what looked like Command Seals. It was a history of the Grail War Tanis had fought in. Melloi read through it. 'The Global Grail War' 'The First Death: Dante' The Colombian Rune Mage intrigued me. How a man hailing from South America had mastered a magic thought to be lost to the Celts, was beyond my comprehension. It would have been interesting to look more into him, however he perished too early in this conflict for me to properly understand him. He was killed by Umber, upon his arrival in Paris. Cannavale's reports said he had no clue what was even going on, and had summoned a berserker, at that. Luckily, its battle with Umber's Lancer provided useful information, in spite of the loss of an even greater mystery. Lacking understanding of his situation, and a servant that would draw him into more violence... I'm not too surprised by this one. 'The Second and Third Deaths: Mercy Reyes and Colleen' Cannavale and I had agreed on a temporary truce to take down this pair. Dealing with the Saber class servant was a chore, yet Christian's Caster made away with it by somehow meddling with its Noble Phantasm. The master was executed by Cannavale himself. The Reyes family was powerful, notable for its use of enchantments and illusions. Apparently illusions weren't enough to compete in this. As for Colleen, her servant blundered into Umber before myself or Cannavale could pin her down. Apparently they had an explosive battle, that quietly ended. The Master appeared to be burnt out, circuits fried from overuse, leading me to believe that the servant had used a defensive phantasm too many times while within a reality marble, while the master was engaged with Umber himself. 'The Fourth Death? Unknown Master, Assassin-Class Servant' It appeared that some masters had voluntarily left the fray, likely valuing their own lives before the Grail. I'm guessing his servant tricked him into entering the war, since he had to have had some desire to use the Grail. Hector's reports claimed that an Assassin-Class servant was killed while battling another servant, with the master fleeing as they engaged. The Assassin lasted much longer than he should have, implying the use of several command spells. Motivation is a key factor in an arena of death, I guess. 'The Fifth Death: Marcus Burroughs' It surprised me to see several American magi in this war, considering the country's lackluster magical lineage. Burroughs appeared to hail from one of the oldest practitioners of witchcraft, if my texts on Salem proved accurate, which led me to be even more confused by his lackluster employment of magecraft, even for an American. His servant was particularly annoying, and almost killed me if it weren't for my servant's intervention in killing the master. Luckily, I had yet to employ my reality marble. 'The Sixth Death? The Phantom Don' Hector would ramble on an on about the magical underground of Paris, especially when it came to the Don. He was even more annoying about it when he figured out the Don was a master in this war, which made him act like a particular breed of idiot when Risei Kotomine had entered the fray. Simply put, my theory is that the Don left Paris the moment his servant was slain by the second Archer. Hector would like to think of him as dead, but I don't see a man that paranoid staying within a doomed city, or even risking his life over the Grail. 'The Seventh Death: Rhoswen Lloyd' I was lucky for Lloyd to hate the rest of us so much. Very lucky. Cannavale and I avoided Lloyd entirely when this conflict arose. The Lloyd family had been a great trouble to both the enforcers as well as Cannavale's old groupies, and both of them knew to keep their distance. Lucky for us, she was struck down by Risei and his Archer, leaving an opening for an alliance between me, Christian, and Erwin to spearhead an attack against him. Assassin has commented that I would have likely perished if she was left alive. Thankfully, flexibility has its perks. 'The Eighth and Ninth Deaths: Christian Cannavale and Risei Kotomine' It was only a matter of time before Cannavale would bite the dust. His alliance with me would have ended with either of us dead, so I don't think he minds me thinking that. Thankfully Risei was the one who put him down, not before his servant distracted the Archer long enough for us to employ three reality marbles on the servant at the same time. Christian managed to lethally wound Kotomine, before going mad after being hit with the sludge. After he and his servant were dealt with, it was clear how this would end. 'The Tenth Death: Erwin van der Zwan' The van der Zwans are arguably the most powerful Dutch magus family, so it didn't surprise me to see their heir make it this far. Granted, with what I have heard about their family, their "heir" had left the house years ago, which made Erwin's selection particularly interesting. He and I had formed an impromptu alliance to take out Umber, yet he and his servant perished to a phantasm of the Lancer. He seemed content, although I didn't care much for whatever he planned to tell me or his servant. 'The Eleventh Death: Marshall Umber' The moment I saw Umber's servant I knew this Grail War would have the odds stacked against me. Umber's family was a boring read, but the man himself was a particularly perplexing novella. Spacial manipulation was a rare power among Magi, and it made my head spin whenever I thought about ending the man. Assassin pointed out, however, that Hector may have been of use here. You'll find Umber's body somewhere in a heap in the ruins of Paris. You can't exactly teleport when you're restrained, and with a phantasm sticking out of your chest. 'Tanis Faucheux' And now you've reached me, Melloi. Below is a set of terms I have wished for with the grail, I'm certain your assistants will thoroughly look it over. Hector will continue to lead the house, don't worry. I don't plan to stop annoying him for a long time. And you and the rest of the mage underworld won't be seeing me anymore. Peace and quiet. That's what I wished for after asking for a book describing the Grail. In the end, I just wanted to read. Writing this '' was a chore, but less of a chore than telling you myself. Now, I have a book about the size of one of your archives to entertain myself. Although, you might hear about my servant in a couple of years. His wish might trouble you a little more than mine. Goodbye. User Placements If Tanis' recap wasn't enough for you, here's a more direct, to your face ranking, naming the users. '''Tourney Navigation' Submissions → First Five Elims→ Special Round → Final Battle (3-Way FFA) Recap ---- 11th Place: Duncan322 9th Place: Venus01 and BattleGames1 8th Place: Yours Truly 7th Place: LB&SCR 6th Place: Wassboss 5th Place: Laquearius 4th Place: Cfp3157 ---- Top Three: Bronze Medal: Appelmonkey Silver Medal: WanderingSkull GRAIL WAR WINNER: Leolab ''' '''The winner of the Grail War, Leolab, will be allowed to post this award on their profile page: The dweebs that entered the tourney and decided not to participate, Venus01 and Duncan322, you get this award. I don't expect you to put it on your profiles, but you have rightfully earned it. There will also be an award for the first and second place winners, which will be a super secret until it's ready. Stay tuned for that! The Narrative This page will be periodically updated with parts of the narrative for the tourney. I plan to update frequently and when I can, but don't expect anything. Below will be the story for the Global Grail War, each chapter focusing on a different user character as they fight their way towards the Holy Grail. Chapter 1: History Lives (Marcus Burroughs) I. History Lives “History Lives. The balls of indistinct flames millions of miles away from the night sky are called an archer of legend by the imagination of dreaming philosophers. Kings who lived to die, gain maybe miles on their territory are dubbed heroes, legendary swordsmen who fought the winged beasts that lived in the storybooks of children. We live in the fantasy world of our minds. Maybe Alexander the Great was the son of a thunder god, or maybe he was just a young man with crazed aspirations. And maybe, with magic, they can come to life.” Another voice interrupted the smooth, generically British narration, breaking Marcus’ attention. “A History of Myths will return after these short messages. This program is was made possible by these sponsor-” The young adult parousing through some documentaries on Netflix yawned, before turning off his TV in boredom. He felt like he was having a bad dream, one that even that British Narrator couldn't sooth. However, his usual go-to fix for stress and schoolwork seemed to still work, despite the chokehold melancholy had on him. He reached out with his third and fourth hand, giving himself a through back massage, as well as an exercise of his magical nerves. While his discovery of his magical abilities as a kid had been one of the turning points of his life, it was still nice to have for the smaller things. Although, he mostly used them for the smaller things. Invisible hands that only he noticed he had and a weird feeling that some sort of energy was passing through him weren't exactly the types of things one would run home to the CIA and brag about, not that he had planned to. Magic, he called it. Sure, comic books would call them superpowers, and a video game he played would go on about how his third and fourth hands was some sort of chip in his brain, but Marcus' passion was fantasy, not techno-jargon. He relaxed further into the couch, letting melancholy get a better hold of him. A bad dream. Why was he calling a random day in the week, laying on his couch, with nothing better to do a "bad dream"? Lately his nerves felt restless, and his hands had more energy than they usually did. Add in a dream of a bloody fountain and he'd have what his English professor called "Forshadowing". Yet nothing happened lately. Classes went to and fro, grades painfully average, and life stagnant, despite his magic. The feeling of unease just made the restlessness even more unbearable. It felt as if something was calling to him, and somehow history documentaries soothed that, or at least gave him enough brain death to stop thinking about anything. Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner. More thoughtless days, wandering around his house after studying his brain cells to extinction. It seemed that burying himself in more things he didn't care about was the only way to escape the feeling that something was off. He had always been paranoid about someone discovering his abilities, but this was different. It wasn't hearing the horn of a train while standing on the tracks, it was as if he was frozen in place, right in between the railway, with nothing happening. However, instead of standing in between railways, he was standing in the middle of a dusty museum, which didn't exactly make him feel that much better. He silently told the narration above him to piss off, missing the charming British accent of his TV program. It was a planned trip among friends, although 'friends' was a loose term. Marcus' philosophy was that a 'good friend' was an oxymoron. He kept himself in the Goldilocks zone of nonawkwardness, close enough to be in the loop but far away enough for him to not give a shit. It was the displays that intrigued Marcus. This was the opening of an exhibit showcasing the findings of a recent exhibition in England, although it had the generic knights armor to attract the non-history nuts. Swords, shields, and skeletons... he guessed that it was an exhibition of a battlefield. However, a particular exhibit peaked his interest. A painting depicting a castle, on top of which was some kind of gangly man holding a crossbow. Below him, in the dirt, appeared to be some royal figure, who looked like he just got bolt lodged into his shoulder. And, the centerpiece of the exhibit... A pan. Well, it was on top of a generously decorated shield, but on top of the shield was was a rusted frying pan. Even the past few weeks of history documentation didn't really prep him for that one. He pulled up the plaque, which had one quote inscribed on it: "Live on, and by my bounty behold the Light of Day." The shield had an odd circular pattern, made with a metal that appeared to have withstood the test of time. Yet, the whole display still made him intrigued. The wacky, but almost solemn feel of it resonated in him, and momentarily removed the feeling of unease he had. His thoughts of contentment next to a rusted frying pan were cut short, however, by a offhanded joke from a 'friend' reeling him back into reality. Back to boredom it was, then. Marcus stayed around the exhibit for a while longer, before dusk had fallen, and sun rays began to get caught in the corner of his eye. Following the group ahead of him, he walked forward as the blue of the sky darkened, without noticing red etchings tie themselves into his right hand. His thoughts, however, stuck on the quote: "Live on". II. The Heist Marcus swore up and down that this was some sort of sick prank from his fake friends, but he doubted they really cared enough about his existence to even try a stunt like this. Even then, how the hell did someone put a permanent tattoo on his arm while he was in a museum? It all wracked his brain. His nerves were on end, and sometimes he felt his control over his third and fourth hands slip, breaking the occasional piece of glass and china, much to his mother's dismay. Yet it didn't make any sense. First the restlessness, then the tattoo, then his powers going haywire, as if something had clicked in his brain that he couldn't notice. It felt like he could, however. He couldn't stop thinking about the pan, and the words on the plaque. He looked them up, finding biographies on Richard the First. He even chucked a bit when he read that the great king was felled by a drunk man holding a pan and a crossbow. That mystery was solved, but his questioned kept on stacking on top of each other regardless. You should steal the pan, ''part of him thought. It was one of those sick products of curiosity that slipped through people's mental filters, but it was a thought nonetheless. But he thought it again, and again, and again. Something had clicked in him, maybe the pan was the answer. A part of him kept on pointing out how much of an idiot he was for thinking this, but then another part of him remembering him laughing as experts constantly dismissed the existence of magic on TV while he was drinking a soda without even holding it. He looked at the back of his hand again, looking at the winged symbol, with an arrow pointing back towards him in the center. It was as if it was telling him to look at himself, look at the world around him and notice something he was missing. The longer he looked at it, the farther away meloncholy travelled, and the closer curiocity walked towards him. He could tell that something was drawing him away from his day to day life, something far, far, away that called him. His thoughts drifted to the museum again. The tattoo appeared only after he had seen the buster sheild and the pan. He pulled an excuse out of his ass, before running out the door and taking a bus, and paying a hefty entrance fee for what appeared to be the last hour that the museum would be open. As usual, nothing really peaked his intrest. He shot stray glances of fossils, gave a bored expression at masterworks of art, until he reached back at the very same place he had received this symbol. He lifted his hand, approaching it while ongoing lookers probably thought he was high. Yet, he could feel something click again. He held his arm straight with his other arm, the arrow facing directly towards his face as he concentrated with his third and fourth hands, holding it straight towards the pan and sheild display, as if he was expelling energy towards the target. And to his amazement, the symbol glowed. People to his left and right still thought he looked like an idiot, but with his determined expression, they also expected that he was trying to do something suspect. A few ran to get security. Marcus had to find out what it was that was calling him, end this feeling on unease. End the "bad dream" his day to day life felt like. As the symbol glowed in front of him, it felt like he was finally waking up. He touched the glass on top of the display. Almost instinctively, and with a show of force he never saw his invisible hands display, the glass cracked, filtered air flowing with the scent of dust and age. The glowing had grown in magnitude, and to more amazement, the metallic circle on the shield began to glow underneath the handle of the pan. He could feel his energy connect with it, feel it send something towards him. A chant, some sort of ritual. It was half complete, and he needed to give something back. However, he heard the stomping of security, and the ringing of an alarm, making him panic. He felt words in his head he shouldn't know, fed to him from the shield. A security officer attempted to grab him by his arm, but his third and fourth arms pushed him flying into the wall behind him. ''"Let silver and steel be the essence." A wave of energy sent the rest of the security guards flying back, breaking the glass windows in the hallway. He felt connected to something far away once more, with words flooding into his mind. For some reason, as his mouth spoke them unwillingly, he could only thing about the quote on the shield's plaque: "Live on". A flood of energy poured out of the shield, with the metal symbols vanishing. Before he could see what had happened, however, two sharp needles pierced his back, with electricity flowing into him. Marcus had never felt a taser's blast before, but it wracked his limbs, causing him to tremble, but not faint. His thoughts separated from his mind, wandering to the far away places he felt was contacting him. He saw everything. Faucheux Mansion. Paris, France. A small girl- no, lady, stood over a circle of silver. A man lurked behind her, watching with disbelief and amazement. She held a bone, looking passively as she chanted, as if she was reading a contract. "Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation." Another blast of energy send his mind spinning, as the environment around him turned into mist. Canadian WIiderness, Newfoundland. He was in the center of a tent, looking down upon a man who had crouched down, desperately reading page after page of a moldy book. He had a frantic disposition, and looked like he was thinking of something painful. Scars crossed his arms, and he was dressed in a camouflage jacket, stained with blood. He had been injured recently. "Raise a wall, against the wind that shall fall." A gunshot from outside of the tent startled Marcus, sending him back into his mind again. Umber Family Mansion. United States Coastline. A man devoid of energy looked dimly at the circle before him, holding the cloth from a sail in his hand. He was surrounded by stern figures, shooting daggers, all analyzing ever syllable uttered from his mouth. "Close the four cardinal gates. Come out from the crown." The environment around him dissipated, reforming. Aboriginal Camp, Australia A woman stood among a circle of what looked like mages, who were all chanting around her, feeding her some sort of energy. She looked paradoxically vulnerable, trembling, but had a face that had no other expression but conviction. "Rotate the three-branched road reaching the Kingdom." The chants grew louder, drowning out the woman's words. Marcus was beginning to feel dizzy, with reality unfurling. Manila, The Phillipines. '' Shouts from burly officers could be heard outside of the small building the woman was holed up in. The barks of dogs, the rustling of grass, something that was searching for her was approaching fast. She stood with defiance, quickly yelling to the skies. "I shall declare here. Your body shall serve under me. My fate shall be with your sword." Marcus heard the search party reach closer. Before the environment dispersed again, he heard the faint shout: "Found her!" ''Unidentified Mage Mansion, Frace. A man was trembling, looking from behind a closed door. Another man was chanting from the other side, with the figure in front Marcus carefully repeating whatever was said. "S-Submit... to the beckoning of the Holy Grail." The chanting stooped, with groans of frustration audible from the other side of the door. The scene changed. Classified Mafia Base, Paris. A masked man stood before another circle, with confused grunts behind him beginning to reach for their guns in preparation for... something. The man in the center gave no heed, raising his voice. "If you will submit to this will and this reason…… then answer!" Something was shimmering in front of the leader. Something had started, but Marcus was thrown to another scene. Backstreets of Amsterdam, the Netherlands. A gruff man, looking like a bag of skin and bones, smiled, yelling to the skies in glee. Marcus could practically feel the Adrenalin, the excitement, the promise of adventure and exploration. "An oath shall be sworn here! I shall attain all virtues of all of Heaven." Some confused bystanders looked at him, before shaking their heads and continuing to walk. Marcus heard something dripping, with the scene changing again. Abdel Nour Mansion. Saudi Arabia. Blood was everywhere. An entire host of guards, a family dead at a large banquet hall, with soldiers guarding each exit. A man stood at the center, with his back faced to Marcus. He had both arm raised, one of them holding an inky black sword. "I shall have dominion over all evils of all of Hell!" A man was crawling away from the table, his guts spilling out onto the floor. Before Marcus could wretch, he was pulled back. The Welsh Coastline, Great Britain. A woman stood before a cliff, looking over the ocean. She was surrounded by elders, all of whom looked desperate. She alone looked determined, as if she was about to fight some great evil; some large beast that killed one of her own. "Yet you shall serve with your eyes clouded by chaos. For you would be one caged in madness. I shall wield your chains." Natural History Museum, Massechussets. Marcus was back to the museum, hearing all the voices shout at once. Without having any control, his voice shouted with them, as the energy above the shield took form, and a mist enveloped the entire building. "From the Seventh Heaven, attended to by three great words of power, come forth from the ring of restraint, Protector of the Balance!" Marcus was about to pass out; all of his energy was being drained. Even his hands started to grow faint. Yet his arm remained as stiff as wood, with the symbol carved in it glowing madly. Before he lost concienseness, the energy in front of him formed a face. Chapter 2: Trail to Paris (Dante) I. The Magician's Apprentice Dante was never French. He spoke the language, lived its culture, and was raised on its land, yet he never considered himself a Frenchman. He loved it, the sounds and smells when he ran to buy herbs, but he was an outsider. The glances, while mothers thought his head was turned on a run for flasks. When shopkeepers spoke their mind, thinking he was a foreigner, despite buying goods from them nearly once a week. And even when he was so forgettable to them, they still had a better grasp of who he was than he did whenever he looked at the bathroom mirror. His room was small, shabby, but cozy, all the same. Dante had read about fantasies, where children would leave the cooped up closet or basement and discover a new world, one with redemption and magic, yet at the age of 20 and with the an unkempt shave he knew that this was inescapable. He'd accepted it, in fact, almost taken a kind of comfort in smiling in ignorance. After all, it hurt much less when he let curiosity take a better hold of him. His morning routine was simple: Wake up at a ninety degree angle, and immediately head towards the lab. The waft of acid and burnt pork had become very familiar scents for the beginning of each day, while he shoved bits of the meat into his mouth at the same time he handled a beaker full of ink that smelled like gunpowder. The Magician, as he called the man who had taken him in as a kid, made an elixir that perfectly cured bad breath and teeth plaque - at the expense of turning one's teeth green for a week. So, with such little time on his hands before work, Dante's teeth looked like a mint gum commercial gone wrong. Plenty of other Alchemical mixtures helped him preform his daily tasks, usually with some bizarre side effects. Dante was sitting in the mansion of what was likely one of the finest mages in the world, and his lessons over twenty years surmounted to being able to identify thirty different types of flasks, and which potions had the worst side effects (Acne Ointment that turned boils into sugar plums had been one of the highlights of his years of puberty). Still feeling the scent of mint in his mouth, he went past the recreational area of the lab, reaching the experimentation room. It was the largest place in the entire palace; and conversely one of the most crowded. It was a miracle that the floor was enchanted to be softer than carpet, even though that hardly stopped the stacks of glass from falling over and shattering. As the years went by, clutter had only accumulated on the shelves, as phone call after phone call signaled a new stage of disrepair for the mansion. From elitist magic to shadowy business deals, the mage that had taken him in as a child grew more and more distant from him. However, he was currently on his greatest breakthrough yet, although Dante could care less about that. Some stacks of glass fell over, before crashing violently on the floor. "Dante! Mercury!" Dante wove his way around the lab, while nibbling on some bacon, picking up a vial of liquid metal conveniently near the stove he was cooking on. He carefully stepped over a liter of hangover-proof beer, before tossing the Mercury in a shoot that went down into the lower laboratory. The whole mansion shook, sending a test tube of acid on the pan, liquefying the remaining bacon, as well as the top layer of the pan itself. Dante lazily threw it into another shoot. It landed with a soft thud in the distance, implying that the hazardous waste still hadn't been taken out yet. A shout come from below. "Damn it, damn it, damn it!" Dante could almost fell the hair being ripped out of the magician's scalp. "Let quicksilver and steel be the essence!" Another shake. Dante couldn't hate the man, although he did laugh a bit whenever some great plan he was hatching exploded. Which sadly, was nearly all of them. He decided to head down to the basement, to see if a healing potion would be necessary. However, when he reached the bottom of the stairwell, he noticed flashing lights beneath the bedroom door. He slowly opened the door, before seeing the man dancing around a circle he had Dante draw earlier, yelling incoherently. "All of the ingredients! All of the chants! I paid you and your ruffians all I had left for that information! What do you mean, you can't help me?" A short pause. "I'll have you know, I've had two years in the Clock Tower, and my inventions are worth more than the entire damn building!" A longer pause. "The Faucheuxes? You sold the information to them?!" A very long pause, followed by a longer pause from his master. "Well... I suppose my earnings have been low recently.... but my magic! It was one of the most recognized in my time! I spearheaded alchemy in the Tower, had an office with my own personal enfor-" A blank tone from the phone, hung up, shut him up. So, he had been scammed, again, ''thought Dante. "Master? Is there anythi-" "You're leaving next week. I'll be sending you off with a week's food and some alchemy tools." Dante froze. "''Excuse ''me?" "I'll make it right now if you make this more costly than it already is. Damn it! Conned by the Don himself. "A letter to ambitious mages"? That R.K. has to clue of the meaning of ambition, if he's reserving his little death games to crime lords and noblemen!" The mage stormed out of the room, preoccupied with what was likely the thoughts of having to sell off generous amounts of his land. Dante just watched as the door slammed inches from his face. Before turning around and staring at the circle runes he had prepared weeks earlier. After what seemed like an eternity, he came close to kicking the entire formation, before spotting a paper in the corner. He shuffled over to it, and skimmed the information before tossing it into a corner. It was clearly a fraud, something Dante wished his former master had shown him before yelling commands to make a giant waste of time, money, and his livelihood. It just seemed wrong. Quicksilver and Steel? The only chants he'd even seen the two metals in was for some sort of odd ritual his master made for summoning helium for balloons. It was ''that odd of a combination, something he was flabbergasted his master didn't pick out. Perhaps he had his head too deap in the pile of shit he called the "Global Grail War", or whatever he was trying to make the ritual for. Yet, it was all over now. In a split second, Dante would be forced to try and find work as a mage while avoiding the church and the association, something the magician had struggled with even with a license. He could tell the circle still had some energy, although most of it had already dissipated. A lone string laid in the center of it, with silvery metals surrounding it in patterns he had drawn out at his master's behest. Dante stopped his train of thought. Silvery. Why did that sound so perculiar? "Let silver and steel be the essence." Surprisingly, the room didn't explode this time. The entire mansion collapsed on him. II. Follow the String Category:Blog posts